


Lest You Raise Your Eyes to Heaven

by KIBITZER



Category: RWBY
Genre: AU where Everything Is Bad, Bad Ending, Death, F/M, Four Old People Bury A Body In The Park & It Only Gets Worse From There, Horrible Old Hets Hold Hands, No One Gets Along: The Fic, The Bickering Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIBITZER/pseuds/KIBITZER
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ozpin says very little when Amber dies. He is no doubt playing his chess game in his mind, but for the first time, Glynda has a hard time picturing where his moves are taking them all. She would prefer to give her life on the battlefield rather than wait for death in his isolated ebony cage, but Ozpin's game board is turning on him, teeth snapping in longing for his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SOLSTICE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [khayr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/khayr/gifts).



> this entire mess is dedicated to khayr for making me get back into writing shitty old heteros P F F T

They had given Pyrrha Nikos until the end of the festival to make her decision. That had proven to be a mistake of generosity. Of no fault to Nikos, of course - only their own overestimation of Amber’s strength and Atlas’ capabilities. Glynda stared into the chamber that had been Amber’s only lifeline and her deathbed, eyes absorbing every detail with practiced speed. She would never have to look at this room again. It would be burned into her memory for the rest of her life, along with the heavy feeling of failure and the chilling fear of the unknown.

Amber had passed away. Her body still lay in the chamber, skin marred by the assault that had condemned her to the glass prison in the first place. She looked the same, eyes closed, body motionless - but her vitals spoke a damning silence.

General Ironwood shut the machine down, his shoulders drooping as if the entire world rested its weight on him. The blue light faded. As the barriers separating the group from Amber slid away, the sound of numerous locks clicking open traveled down the side of the chamber.

Nobody moved to open the lid. No one wanted to fully face the truth. No one wanted to bury Amber. Qrow leaned against the wall, not making eye contact with anyone, devoid of any of his usual abrasiveness. Ironwood stood directly next to the capsule, frozen in place at the device’s main control panel. One of his hands still lingered on the control, fingers giving an occasional involuntary spasm against the smooth metal. Ozpin was the only one who had put himself in a neutral position on the floor, too far away to be first in line to do something, but not so far that he completely removed himself from the situation - Glynda envied him that, briefly. She stood between him and Ironwood, staring directly at Amber, only a stride or two away from being able to touch her. 

Ironwood was the closest, but she knew he would not act. Glynda gave a long exhale, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear and adjust her glasses. The other three had dealt with her enough to know what came next: she took responsibility where they refused. When she looked back at the chamber, it opened with the urging of her Semblance, lid swinging up like a coffin. Glynda only approached once it was open, refusing to look at Ironwood as she gathered the maiden’s body into her arms and lifted her out. 

She could have used her Semblance to move the corpse, like a puppet on a merciless string, but even Glynda Goodwitch was not that morbid. It only felt right to carry Amber with her own hands, a final kindness in a tragic story. Saying nothing to her three companions, Glynda turned on her heel and started down the hallway, the purpose and strength in each footfall flawlessly covering the cold fear that clutched at her insides. After a few heartbeats, she heard Ozpin begin to follow her, and then the other two. She could separate all three by the sound of their steps alone; Ozpin’s slightly uneven ones accompanied by the sound of his cane striking the floor, Ironwood’s heavy and authoritative march, and Qrow’s self-assured quietness. 

Amber’s body was light, malnourishment robbing it of any muscle or fat until only a hollow cage to hold her soul remained. Even so, Glynda’s arms trembled under the weight, straining to hold the cold and hollow shell of everyone’s hopes.

They buried Amber on school grounds, under an old oak in the grassy parts of campus. It was past midnight. They were the only people walking around the school, and even though they should be far beyond such feelings, all four of them felt a restless unease at how quiet the usually bustling courtyards were. Qrow and Ironwood dug until Ozpin softly reminded them to stop before they hit bedrock, gracious enough to not comment on the half-choked sob that was the only reply. There was no saying who was crying. Even Glynda couldn’t tell. She held back her knowledge and senses, not wanting to know. 

She held Amber to her chest until they were done, standing as breathlessly still as the corpse itself, and then helped lower her body into its final resting place. Glynda handed the light, too-frail corpse to the two men, who placed it at the bottom of the hole as gently as they could. She helped them out of the deep hole with her Semblance and her hands, soil clinging to her palms as it did theirs. 

They hadn’t had to ask her for help, and they didn’t this final time either. With a last flex of her hand, the dirt they had dug out of the ground rose up and - as quietly and respectfully as she could - filled the grave. 

No one wanted to linger there, yet all four of them did, all staring at the same spot of grass, knowing that just some feet below was a secret. To them, the disturbed earth seemed like a screaming signal to any passerby, begging to be dug back up - in reality, the pieces of soil held together by grassroots had been reassembled so neatly they could only see it because they knew what was there.

“We should have buried her under the brick path,” Glynda said finally.

“It doesn’t matter in the end.” Ozpin’s voice was quiet, more tired than she had ever heard it, and that alone was enough to break her heart. 

“You’re both right,” Ironwood said, heavy with unspoken words. He was the first to turn and begin to leave. 

Qrow was the last person to remain at the unmarked grave, fists opening and closing restlessly before he found words. “So -- am I the only one here who’s concerned about where her magic went off to?”

The subsiding dread in Glynda reared its head again, turning her guts to ice. She didn’t falter, but she didn’t reply, either. Ozpin was the only one who offered a response, as steadily as he could manage:  
“I don’t think Pyrrha Nikos has it, if that is what you’re asking.”

* * *

At dawn, they checked on Nikos, if only to make absolutely sure. Ozpin told her nothing, so Glynda didn’t, either - despite the confused, worried look that crossed the student’s face. She didn’t have the power - not that there was any reason she _would_ , when all their plans had gone awry so badly. Even checking was somewhat of an irrational move, but she supposed they were just that desperate after all. Now, their only hope was that Autumn had gone against expectation and found a new, random host. Even that would be less of a hassle than the other option, which Glynda refused to entertain even now. 

Ironwood, Glynda, Ozpin, and Qrow reconvened in Ozpin’s office. It was still quiet, but Glynda could see familiar sparks of lightning in Ironwood’s eyes, recognized the slanted line of Qrow’s mouth. She looked to Ozpin by her side, and he was a closed book even to her. All three men were on the brink of breaking the silence and igniting the gunpowder that seemed to hang in the air between them all. The tension in the air was fear, and they knew better than anyone the hysteria that followed if panic got its hold. She, too, was holding her tongue, a thousand words on the edge of her breath, too afraid to speak. 

Ironwood was the first to finally cut through the dreadful silence, putting one heavy hand on Ozpin’s desk. “We have to do something,” he said, too vague to be helpful, yet more than enough to break the spell. 

“Like what?” Qrow’s reply had a mocking edge, if only to cover the slight quiver. 

“We’re sitting in a closed trap,” Glynda observed. Admittedly, optimism had never been her forte. She pushed her glasses into place and added: “I suppose we can break our way out by force.”

“I have to call in the rest of the troops,” Ironwood said. “We still have resources back in Atlas. Reinforcements.”

“What will you do with them?” Ozpin asked, and the glint in the general’s eye flared, finally reverting to the determined fire she was accustomed to seeing. 

“First things first, we have to find the person who killed Amber,” Ironwood said, turning on his heel to begin a long circle around the room. “Set every man in the kingdom on her head. It’s the only way.”

“Absolutes like that will get us all killed,” Glynda said.

“I’ll assemble every available troop, and you get your Hunters on it, as well. We have enough manpower and weapons to last a lifetime. There is no need to hold back.”

By the back wall, Qrow gave a derisive snort. “We don’t even know where to point those guns, Jimmy. We may be backed into a corner, but turning blade and bullet in every direction won’t help. We need knowledge, and fast.”

“I agree,” Ozpin said. “We could hunt for weeks and find nothing, while our world burns to ash right from under our feet.”

At least Glynda wasn’t the only one having trouble staying positive. Ironwood bristled, returning to the desk in long strides. “So you’re giving up?”

“That isn’t what he meant, and you know it,” Glynda shot in, recognizing Ozpin’s even stare as what it was - reluctance to answer. “Back down, James.”

“Now you can’t even speak for yourself? I’m sick of your passive little games, Ozpin,” the general growled. “ _You_ might be content to let the world die, but I’m not. The fall maiden, whoever she is now - I’m finding her, and I’m making sure she’s dead, with or without you.”

“Yelling at him doesn’t do us any good.” Qrow leaned around Ironwood to shoot a hard glare at the general. The surprise on Ironwood’s face confirmed that Glynda was the only one who had heard Qrow’s slinking moves, as usual. “Cool off, James. You’ll get killed.”

“Then I will die,” Ironwood retorted. “Cowards who don’t even want to take the risk will live, but they also never have a chance to gain anything.”

For a split second, it looked like Ozpin would finally explode, but he stifled whatever rage coiled in him. The only outward sign was a slight thinning of his lips, resembling faint dismay at best. The others didn’t notice, but Glynda knew every tell of his emotions by heart, and she knew how frustrated he was even without words. 

“We need to know what to shoot at before pulling the trigger,” Qrow said. “I’ll go back out. Call in every favor I can. I’ll find you a target, Jimmy.”

“There’s no time,” Ironwood said, but it was a half-hearted defense. 

“We cannot be too careful,” Ozpin said. “Let it be known that I’m not much fond of sending Qrow out there alone, either.”

It was Qrow’s turn to bristle. “You think I can’t handle myself?”

“Against this? No. If things go badly, any one of us would be overpowered.”

“At least we’re trying to do something about it, Oz!” Ironwood tried to side with Qrow, but the Hunter shot a cold glare back at him. Even now, Qrow refused to stand with James. The room was a three-way split; Ironwood against Qrow against Ozpin and Glynda. And even Glynda had to admit that Ozpin’s reluctance to make an actual suggestion was irritating. Still, she would never side with either of the other two against Ozpin. 

The silence stretched for what felt like hours. Finally, Qrow snorted and turned to leave. “Whatever. I’m out of here. Thank me later, when I’ve saved all of our asses.”

Ironwood slowly moved to join him, with no word of farewell, an unfinished conversation hanging in the air behind him. Ozpin did not try to call either of them back.

When the elevator door closed, he finally lowered his shoulders and leaned forwards over the table, head in his hands. Glynda said nothing, taking the empty cup from his desk to occupy her hands. There was still some coffee left in the pot, and she refilled his mug with practiced movements. 

It was difficult to tell what was going through his head. It always was. Ozpin was always at least three steps ahead of anyone else, his mind racing through millions of potential moves and their consequences in the time it took someone like Ironwood to come up with even a single plan. Even so, despite Ozpin’s fast-spinning schemes, he usually refused to say anything until he had made absolutely sure a given path would be advantageous. It wasn’t uncommon for him to spend hours, even days, mulling over a given problem in absolute silence - before calling a meeting and efficiently presenting them with every single step to solving the issue, as if it was easy. He was constantly calculating risk and consequence, weighing losses against wins, trying to see through the fog of unknowing and predict his enemies several moves in advance. 

When he did not reach a conclusion in just a single half-night, that wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t anything they could fault him for. He was not a rash decision-maker, not one to let surprise disrupt his meticulous pattern. It was for their greater good that he held back to consider. That did not mean it wasn’t frustrating for them when he remained silent, retreating into himself when they needed him the most.

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” Ozpin said suddenly, before she could return with the coffee. “Burying her, I mean.”

She shrugged, but the weight on her shoulders did not budge. Her back was turned to him, but he was sure the false optimism in her voice was a dead giveaway of the exhaustion she felt regardless. “Come on, Oz. I’ve had worse tasks on my hands before.”

“Have you really?” 

Knowing she was caught in her lie, Glynda turned around and smiled. “No. I was trying to make you feel better.”

He was still holding his head as if defeated, but she saw him looking at her through his fingers even so. She crossed back across the room, taking a sip of the coffee on the way - it was lukewarm, but drinkable - and pulled up a second chair next to his. Ozpin accepted the mug when she offered it, folding his hands around it as if he could gather some warmth from it still.

“Are you as scared as I am?” she asked.

Ozpin smiled a little at that, his eyes searching her face as if the answer was written there instead of in his own heart. “No,” he said, drawing a long breath and averting his gaze to stare into the black coffee. “I’m even more frightened than you could imagine.”

He only ever let his guard down when they were alone. On Ozpin’s chessboard, honesty could be a dangerous thing, emotional openness often only an opening for a fatal blow. Admitting to being scared was a private thing for both of them, as if even just acknowledging it would shake the very foundations of their world.

Glynda scooted her chair as close as possible, leaning her head on his shoulder with a heavy exhale. He took one of her hands, his thumb stroking the back of her hand, and neither of them said a word as the sun slowly rose behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOLSTICE: an astronomical event that occurs twice each year as the Sun reaches its highest or lowest excursion relative to the equator. the day of the solstice is either the longest or the shortest day of the year.


	2. EQUINOX

It was nostalgic, in a way. Ozpin’s office filled with voices, four chairs around the desk rather than just the one. Several empty cups between stacks of paper, and the smell of old smoke from an ashtray. 

Only three of the chairs were occupied. Ironwood, Ozpin, and Glynda were gathered around their scrolls and coffee cups, throwing glances at Qrow’s empty seat in the lulls of conversation. 

Ironwood had managed to keep himself in line and not act out on his own after the previous meeting. He had returned for this second meet like a dog that had received a scolding, tail low and eyes downcast. It seemed Qrow had not had such a change of heart. He had kept their scrolls lighting up with the little information he managed to scrape together, but they had little way of controlling what he was doing or where he was. It would make even the strongest leaders nervous, and this group was certainly not strong anymore. It had almost been an hour since his last message, which would not be a lot of time if they had been less tense.

The three of them had resorted to fine-combing the lore of the maidens, seeking some weakness or miraculous solution. Most of this paperwork was their own research, from many years ago, when their work had only just begun. Pages upon pages of hand-written notes (God forbid a digital print was made, those could be traced back and cracked and read by unwelcome eyes, Ironwood had always said that) were sifted through for what felt like the millionth time. They all knew there was nothing new to learn. They still did it. 

Glynda was halfway down a page filled to the brim with a younger Ozpin’s handwriting (so tightly crammed together that telling one line from the one below was a challenge in itself) when everyone’s scrolls went off in unison. Three wads of paper hit the table as they all put aside their readings, glad to have an excuse to stop the busywork. 

“Qrow sent a group message,” Ozpin observed out loud to nobody in particular. Both Ironwood and Glynda knew why he was commenting on it - he naturally only made remarks about things he found remarkable, and he was more conservative in that judgement than most. Sending a group message to three people Qrow knew were in the same room was a little odd, even for him. His usual strategy was to send a single message to one of the three, chosen apparently at random, just to keep them all on their toes.

Glynda noticed both Ozpin and Ironwood were hesitating to open this message. They were probably both going over the exact same reasoning in their heads as she was. This one was different. She bit down on her lip and opened it, seeing Ozpin doing the same in the corner of her eye. 

It didn’t open like a proper message should. It redirected her scroll to the map function instantly, loading a familiar landscape of criss-crossing streets. Vale. Confused, Glynda minimized the map and tried the message again. With the map running in the background, the message displayed a simple sentence: _do not light a fire for the crows_.

“It’s not relevant information,” Glynda stated after a second’s passing. “Qrow is many things I disapprove of, but he is not one to waste time on irrelevant messages while in the field.”

“Glynda is right,” Ozpin said. 

“Ergo, it’s not him,” she continued sharply. “Given that it was sent from his scroll, it stands to reason that he has been compromised.”

“Do not light a fire for the crows.” Ozpin read the message out loud to himself, a thoughtful crease in his brow. “And what of the map? I take it your messages first brought up the map as well?”

“It’s a section of Vale,” Ironwood said. “The industrial area near the docks. Do you think - ?”

Three scrolls chimed in sync, and their owners glanced down again. A second message. This one opened without trying to interfere with other applications, which Glynda was vaguely thankful for. This message was fairly simple - just a name.

“It’s bait.” Glynda snapped her scroll shut and tossed it down onto her paper stacks. 

“Cinder Fall,” Ozpin read, and she could practically hear his mind at work.

“I’m going,” Ironwood said, leaping out of his chair.

“You’ll be walking into an ambush,” Glynda said coolly. 

“Qrow is in trouble. For all we know, he’s giving his life to pass that name to us. This is the first solid lead we have. I have to follow it,” Ironwood paused to glare at her, tucking his scroll away into his coat pocket. “Listen to yourself! You sound like you don’t even want to _try_.”

“That’s irrational. General, sit. Glynda is correct,” Ozpin said, tongue spiked with more venom than either of them anticipated. So he was finished thinking ahead on this one. “The opponent stands nothing to gain from this gamble if we assume Qrow is still a relevant piece. Think about it this way: one with the now complete power of the fall maiden would not need to play hostage games. There is nothing we can give in return for Qrow that they could want - as such, he is a useless pawn. If, by making it look as though Qrow is in trouble, they can lure more of us out into the open - well…”

Ozpin trailed off, steepling his fingers and staring up at Ironwood.

“That still leaves us a chance,” Ironwood said. “If they _didn’t_ get the powers--”

“All probability taken into account, if they did not have the full power they would not be playing these messaging games with us. This exudes confidence, not bluff - they are prepared to defend themselves from anything, from Glynda Goodwitch to your entire army, in return for this taunt.”

As usual, being ranked by herself as a force equal or greater to Ironwood’s entire force made Glynda swell with pride, but she held enough concern and fear inside her to easily smother her satisfaction. Ironwood no doubt noticed as well, but it wasn’t pride that glowed red in his face, either - it was rage. 

“And if you’re wrong? You’ll let him die for your own gamble?”

“Qrow is most likely already dead,” Glynda cut in, taking a sip of coffee. “As Ozpin says. If Cinder Fall has only half of the power, Qrow is not in danger. If she has the complete power, Qrow is dead. She has his scroll and is clearly taunting us, which means she has had contact with Qrow and most likely subdued him. If we assume this is a hostage situation, we will be walking into our deaths.”

“You two are despicable,” Ironwood growled. “Our friend is missing, and you don’t even have the decency to pretend to be concerned.”

“We all knew what we were signing up for,” Glynda shot back. “It’s not my fault that you can’t handle reality.”

“You don’t even care.” He said it as though it was some grand revelation he had only just realized. 

“I care enough to not throw my life away for a single person, when the entire world rests on the other side of the scale, James. Maybe you should learn a lesson or two about priorities. If the three of us throw away our lives --”

“If he is dead, then he died to help us. It is only right to fulfill his hopes and go after his leads. I, for one, am going - regardless of what you say.”

Ozpin, who had been silent while the other two riled each other up, put one heavy hand on the table, and the noise turned both of their attentions to him. When he spoke, his voice was low. He was a quiet storm next to Glynda’s sharp wrath, but just as intimidating. “Do not condemn us all because you can’t keep a level head.”

“What do you suggest?” Glynda asked Ozpin, making a point of not looking at the general. 

“We need time to gather strength. Enforce public security and tighten all border control. Lock everything down until we can get a levelheaded plan and properly mobilize a counterattack. Do not let her move freely, as best as we can manage. Try to stay out of death’s way, but tangle her legs in obstacles to the best of your ability. Can you do that for me, James?” 

“Why would that stop her, if she is as powerful as you believe?” Ironwood bit back. “No matter what roadblocks we set up, she’ll simply tear through.”

“Oh, _please_.” Glynda rolled her eyes, but said nothing to elaborate, leaving it up to Ozpin. 

“She opted to take out Qrow when he was alone,” he pointed out. “And now she’s trying to lure us out there as well - in small numbers. I think she’s trying to stay low, even now, in the eyes of the world. Stay in the shadows until her main enemies have fallen, to rise to power without anyone left to stop her.”

Ironwood stared between them, knowing full well that it was two against one. Glynda was completely aware of the way they were steamrolling him, basically bullying him into shutting up - and she could tell from the tense line of his jaw and the fury in his eyes that he clearly realized that as well. Without Qrow in the room to mediate the conflict by adding a third party and distributing the tension more evenly, it was all-out war between the two remaining parts.

In the end, James didn’t say anything at all. No retaliation. Glynda could see in his face that this was not a forfeit, but a tactical retreat. 

The general left them. Two chairs stood empty. Glynda silently began gathering up the papers on the desk into a neat pile while Ozpin only stared at the closed elevator doors, expression grim and hard. 

“Qrow is dead,” he finally said. 

“I know,” Glynda replied. “Are you afraid?”

“We lost a valuable man,” Ozpin said, chewing on his thumb nail absently. “There’s no doubt that Amber’s part of the power joined its other half, and that person - Cinder Fall, by the looks of it, or at least that’s the she they wants us to know her by - is moving into her endgame. The schemes we noticed before was mere busywork. Amber passed on her own. Fall did not have to do anything more to her. It was all just a matter of time. 

“She would never have been this brash if she didn’t have the firepower to back it up. In just a matter of an hour or less, she overpowered and killed Qrow Branwen for the sole purpose of letting us know that she’s coming for us, and that we should just walk out there and let her tear us down without a fight.”

“That’s not what I asked, Oz,” she said, emptying the cold ashes in the ashtray into the trash bin underneath the table. 

He smiled. “I thought it was a good answer.”

“So that’s a yes, then.” she returned the thin smile and sat down in her chair, putting one hand on the stack of papers. “What do you think comes next?”

No words could be more telling than the absolute silence he gave, slowly turning his chair around to look out the window. It was dark outside. Far below, they could faintly see the lights of the campus, but above that was only blackness. Glynda turned in her seat to follow his gaze, only to find him looking right back at her.

The silence was long, and loaded. So, he had not yet finished going through all the possible outcomes. His cards as close to his chest as ever, deathly afraid of making a wrong statement, always terrified of thoughtless guesswork. He was a man with many wrong calls under his belt. He had learned the hard way what a single mistaken order could cost.

Glynda turned back around to the table, reaching between the abandoned coffee mugs and taking the pack of cigarettes. She opened it, took one out, and threw the pack back onto the table.

“Light, please,” she said, breaking the silence. She sat sideways in her chair, one arm slung over the back of it so that she could look out into the darkness with him. None of the four people (now three people) in their little group considered smoking one of their regular vices, but all of them tended to smoke regardless in stressful situations. It would be funny if it didn’t fill the room with such a terrible stench. She held the unlit cigarette between her teeth as he drew a lighter from his pocket. The heat of the lighter flame seemed to reach through into her soul for the brief seconds it was near her, and finally, she felt some semblance of real emotion.

It didn’t show on her face, she was sure, but Ozpin knew her well enough to notice that she was bothered. 

“Doesn’t Qrow have family?” Glynda asked. “Two nieces here at Beacon?”

“Our young scythe prodigy,” Ozpin said, a smile tugging at his lips. “He taught her how to wield her weapon. Ruby’s sister, as well, though _she_ never mentions Qrow at all. Still, blood is blood, and she needs to know.”

“Who will break the news?”

They both stared at each other for a while before Ozpin tilted his head. “Together.”

“Together.” When she said it, the word was surrounded by a cloud of smoke, hazily drifting away. “Oz, do you remember when Qrow first joined us?”

Ozpin turned his chair slightly to face her more directly, a distant smile spreading on his face. “It took him almost a week to start believing what we were trying to tell him. He wouldn’t stop laughing.”

“He only settled down after he realized he would, quote, rather chase maidens than paperwork.” Glynda snorted, but the exasperation from all those years ago was not there anymore. No use being upset over a dead man’s joke, no matter how revolting. She breathed as evenly and uniformly as the tide along the shoreline, inhaling despair and exhaling smoke. Her mind was trained to shed unnecessary things in order to focus on the task at hand, and she cleanly sheared tragedy from her consciousness, burying Qrow where only her dreams would be able to find him. 

Sleep was many hours away, but she would have to fight that battle when the time came.

“What do you say James will do?” she prompted, passing the cigarette into his hands without asking if he wanted it. “Can’t keep himself in line, but do you think he’ll actually act out?”

Ozpin made a rude noise, the hand holding the cigarette covering his mouth. He shook his head as he lowered the cigarette, a deep crease between his eyebrows. “The general is difficult to predict, you know,” he said. “Any game is easy to read if you assume both sides are making the best play, but…”

“A fool who barely knows the rules is unpredictable,” Glynda finished. 

He smiled as if to calm her and handed the cigarette back. “Not the words I would have used,” he said. “But yes, when someone isn’t playing their best...surprises happen.”

“Let me rephrase the question, then,” she said, leaning closer. “You know him just as well as I do. What do _you_ think he’ll do?”

“Personality is the most determining factor after all,” Ozpin agreed. “I think he’s at the end of his rope as far as patience goes. The only thing that would stop him from doing whatever he feels like now is loyalty.”

“He’s had no trouble throwing you under the bus before,” Glynda reminded him. “And he’s stubborn. While he has been loyal for years, his trust is prone to waver. We can’t rely on him.”

“I know someone else whose trust is prone to waver…” he gave her a look that would have made anyone else self-consciously shrink away, but she fully accepted the accusation without disputing it. “In any case, I have to be able to put a little bit of faith in him.”

“If your optimism gets us all killed, Qrow and I will gang up on you to say ‘I told you so’ in the afterlife,” Glynda said with a crooked smile. 

Ozpin took the cigarette straight from her mouth with a snort. “As if you two could agree on anything long enough.”

The smoke that filled the room was like a blanket separating Ozpin’s tower from proper reality, a closed gate between them and their emotions, a colored film changing the sunlight into something more pleasant. It occurred to Glynda that they had spent so many years dwelling on the same thoughts, the same feelings, that she was numb to them now. Only the rare ones like honest fear and joy shone through the dullness of it all. 

Ozpin leaned into her side with a weary sigh, and his weight was comforting in its realness, an anchor in the fog. She took the cigarette, had a final drag of it, and crushed it into the ashtray on the table behind her. Turning in her chair, she laid her legs across his lap casually, one arm moving around his waist to hold him. She noted the tension in him, the rigor in his spine, anxiety barely contained under a calm facade about to burst. 

There was nothing to do but hope for the best. Glynda hid her face in the crook of his neck, her still and even breathing betraying no emotion. The smell of coffee with a sour hint of cold smoke flooded her senses, a familiar and soothing smell.

Neither of them said anything. Ozpin kissed her head, fingers rigid on her shoulder as if she was the only life raft in endless restless sea, and she knew she was holding onto him in the same way. Smoke coiled against the ceiling, lifting from their line of vision, but the sky outside remained impenetrably dark. Their shining beacon proudly cut through the darkness, but it was difficult to see anything else. The light inside was confined to them, only alive for as long as they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EQUINOX: an astronomical event in which the imaginary plane of Earth's equator passes the center of the Sun, making night and day the same length all over the planet because both hemispheres are equally illuminated.


	3. MIDNIGHTSUN

_Sector 51NDR <No outside communication. We have lost all outside communication. Requesting CCT status.> _

They had given James Ironwood a decision to make. He had known what they wanted from him, and they had known he had his own ideas - both choices opposite, unable to coexist. He had to make a selection.

The fool had tried to choose both.

Glynda felt nothing but hollow echoes of emotion as she watched the rolling text on Ozpin’s monitors. Reports from all over the kingdom were pushing each other upwards and out of view, a never-ending stream of them. Every message that crawled across the screens was a plea for help, begging someone, _anyone_ , to dispatch a team to its point of origin.

Ozpin was watching them, too, and just like Glynda he was doing nothing.

The first reports, in the first minutes of daybreak, had been to a different tune. Less despairing, only warning buzzes and signal flares of situations that were under control. Damage reports. As the day went on, the tone had changed, growing more panicked, more hopeless.

It had started with a series of attacks aimed at the shambles of a security grid Ironwood had set up before vanishing. Weakened by their lack of coordination and military numbers, each security measure had been systematically attacked and brought down. Ozpin had started organizing and dispatching hunters and teams to the most vulnerable locations, knowing full well that the assault on public security would cause enough panic to bring Grimm, but it wasn’t helping.

_Sector C4RD5 <Hostiles spotted along southern wall, lost communication with back-up forces, situation uncertain. Is CCT down?> _

Glynda did not have any numbers to indicate how many hunters had already died that day. The forces they were up against were relentless, thousands of Grimm flooding every outpost of the nation. A proper breach had not yet happened, and the kingdom was safe within its walls - for now. But the price it took…

_Sector QZ17R <Shields holding. Security maintained. Unable to contact outside troops, requesting CCT status.> _

Everything was quiet in their tower. No one was bickering or smoking or laughing. Glynda stood behind Ozpin’s chair (on his right side, as usual) with one hand splayed across his shoulder blades in some semblance of a comforting gesture. She didn’t really even notice it, and neither did he, both transfixed by the rolling text in front of them.

_Sector 45TER <All security personnel offline, requesting reinforcements ASAP. Unable to reach Atlesian quarters; requesting CCT status.> _

Glynda watched, in silence, and she knew Ozpin was thinking the same thing as her. There was no use trying to respond to every message here. The system was being flooded by high-security ground transmissions, ran by the small emergency system that could never hope to carry as much traffic as the malfunctioning CCT system. Normally, it would not have to; the system was only accessible through one console at each station, and they never needed to use it all at the same time. Well, until now.

_Sector RT53V <CCT inaccessible, local communication channels jamming. Requesting back-up immediately. No soldiers left.> _

It kept on. Glynda’s fingers tensed against Ozpin’s jacket, curling slowly into a fist on his back. The stations could not see each other's’ messages. Did they know they were not alone in the assault? Did they know help was not coming?

_Sector 45TER <CCT down. Requesting back-up IMMEDIATELY.>_  
_Sector RT53V <NO ONE IS LEFT ALIVE. REQUESTING BACK-UP IMMEDIATELY.>_  
_Sector REV49 <Security breached. Unable to call for help. Requesting CCT status.>_

The smell of old blood tore at Glynda’s nostrils. It was not a real scent in the room, but to her mind, it was strong and sickly sweet. She was smelling the blood in the walls of this cage she stood in, filled with the heavy knowledge that there was nothing she could do to help any of the people sending distress reports. There was old blood in the walls and bodies buried in the floorboards, ground to dust underneath their feet. Would that foundation crumble now, after everything it had stood strong through?

Ozpin was already halfway out of his chair to fetch a drink by the time she managed to process the most recent message scrolling up the screen.

_IRONW <The obsidian tower crumbles.> _

A chill shot up her spine, hooking its cold claws into her like a nightmare on her back. “It’s not him,” was all she managed to observe out loud. Again. Cinder Fall was playing the same game again, just to show that she could, just to prove that she was not afraid.

Ozpin crossed the room, moving away from the desk. Glynda’s eyes did not follow him, remaining fixed on the screen. The message had frozen in place - other reports still scrolled by, but the message from Ironwood - _not Ironwood, Cinder_ \- was stuck in the center of the screen. The other messages simply kept rolling underneath it, making both it and the rolling messages unreadable at times, when the letters lined up just so.

She spotted a message rolling in from Vale News and managed to read the important parts of it before its letters tangled themselves with IRONW’s.

_VNN49 <Gigantic tremor and explosion in downtown Vale: unknown collateral: General Ironwood & soldiers & civillians dead on scene: unable to report total death count: fire spreading to surrounding buildings-> _

“Cognac?”

Glynda almost jumped at Ozpin’s voice, close to her again. She hadn’t even noticed him coming back. “Yes,” she replied, without even fully processing what he had said, a kneejerk agreement. He said nothing about how shaken she was. She said nothing about how shaken he was. His hands were a fraction clumsier than normal as he poured three glasses.

Glynda took hers. Ozpin took his. The third glass stood lonely on the desk.

“Do you remember,” Glynda started after taking a sip, “when you brought Ironwood into the circle?”

“Qrow wouldn’t speak to me for a week, at least,” Ozpin said.

“Neither would I.” Glynda smiled.

“That didn’t happen.” He stood next to her, returning her thin smile with a half-hearted one of his own. “It was only two days, at most.”

“I didn’t have the heart,” she said. “Plus, I couldn’t leave you alone to deal with him and his restlessness. Even back then.”

“I appreciate it.” He said it so dryly, but his hand found her waist and held her close in honest gratitude. She lowered her eyes and exhaled, having no energy for anything but a bitter smile.

“What’s next?” she asked after a long silence. She felt his fingers curl slightly and then fall back into position, as if he wanted to make a fist but lacked the spirit to manage even that. He drank instead, avoiding the question. She waited. He raised his glass to the lonesome one on the table, and she did the same.

Finally: “I don’t know.”

“I think I know,” Glynda said. “I know what’s next.”

“What might that be?”

“Us.”

He was quiet.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and reiterated. “We’re next.”

Ironwood was the only person in the group who actually liked cognac. They raised their glasses once more, feeling the oppressive darkness of the night sky looming behind them, pressing against the window like a physical _thing_. Glynda’s thoughts fled from her, returning again through the events of the past few days. They had not found Qrow’s body. They had not found Cinder Fall. They had not stopped Ironwood.

Her thoughts returned to the unmarked grave under the old oak on the campus. Had Ozpin known, even then, that he was playing a losing game?

A feeling like moist dirt from the grave against the roof of her mouth made her shiver, and she tried to wash it away with drink. Her tongue curled against the roof of her mouth and she grimaced. Graveyard soil packed around her insides and the smell of old blood filled her head and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Cinder Fall was on her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIDNIGHT SUN: a day that lasts for more than 24 hours.   
> when the sun does not set, remaining visible in the sky for more than 24 hours, nightfall never comes.


	4. POLARNIGHT

Glynda remembered the day Qrow had returned to Beacon in the dead of night, carrying a shape in his arms that, at a glance, resembled only an object or a bundle of cloth. At second glance, it might give the idea of a sleeping child. Only on the third look it became too clear that it was no child, nor was she sleeping. 

He had only been able to give a half-explanation, broken sentences between frightened, wheezing breaths. No one could fault him for that, not then and not now. Qrow had saved Amber’s life, only just barely, but he had not been able to save her power or her consciousness.

They put her in her glass coffin to await a solution. Her death had come first.

Glynda shook her head, trying to reverse her train of thought, to go back. Qrow had arrived with Amber’s body, explaining as best as he could that she had been overwhelmed and her power partially stolen. Glynda had helped him dig a broken arrowhead out of Amber’s back, both of them with blood on their hands and panic in their veins. She remembered how they both had hurt themselves on the arrowhead, finely sharpened metal slicing through their fingers like a razor, so clean they did not even feel the cuts until later. But the arrow had to be removed, for the sake of allowing Amber’s aura - whatever portion of it still functioned - to heal uninterrupted. 

They had not summoned any other staff, no doctors, nobody. They had praised Ironwood’s silver coffin. It kept Amber alive.

But not forever. They had run out of time. 

Glynda’s fingers curled, a phantom stiffness in their joints at the memory of injury. Slowly, reluctant to face physical reality, she opened her eyes. 

No sunlight filtered into the room. The sky was darker than it should be, and a thick, almost cloud-like layer of smoke veiled it from view completely. If she was to judge by only the light in the room she would have assumed it was at least dusk. It was midday. 

She was sitting on the floor, knees up, back pressed against the barricades they had raised against the window pane. The black reinforcement panes stood only at half the height of the windows, but if something - some _ one _ \- decided to come bursting through them, it would be less damaging this way. In theory. Glynda had slept for about half an hour, sitting curled like that, her arms folded and resting on her knees. She felt safer there, low to the ground, hidden behind the black barrier. 

Ozpin was walking from one end of the room to the other, again and again, crossing the diameter of the circular office straight across as if he had an actual purpose. She watched him without saying anything, exhaustion nipping at the edges of her mind as it surely did his as well. Back and forth, he paced, and she could see the lack of purpose in every footfall. Uncharacteristically, he seemed almost lost in his own room.

Glynda had been the first to learn about the maidens from him. He had taught her for hours and days, fingers rifling through centuries-old paper books to show her old texts that had escaped destruction. It had been exciting. It had been fun in its distance and surreality. 

It was not fun anymore.

Slowly, the distress signals had died out, being replaced only by a deafening silence. The CCT system was still down, but it didn’t matter anymore. Mass hysteria had brought the Grimm, and the Grimm had brought silence. Most stations and outposts had either fallen or been abandoned. The kingdom’s walls were breached. One by one, cities were falling. What the Grimm did not devour was swallowed by flames. 

Glynda knew all of this. But it was theoretical knowledge, facts, and did not quite reach her emotions. A hollowness still sat in her chest, protecting her sanity behind locks and walls, refusing to let the truth in. Or maybe she was simply too exhausted to take in any more emotion, and this was protecting her from shutting down completely.

It struck Glynda that she had no idea  _ why  _ Cinder Fall was doing this. It was ridiculous that she didn’t know. Everything she had ever worked for was falling, and she didn’t even know  _ why _ . As far as she was aware, Ozpin had only theories at best. Laughable. Like rats in a maze, with no way of knowing why they were there, Ozpin and Glynda hard cornered themselves in this ebony tower. 

She must have given an audible snort of laughter, because Ozpin stopped pacing and looked at her. For a second he was alarmed, and then his expression softened. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she said, dragging one hand across her face. “You know that.”

He started walking closer, still about halfway across the room from her. “I know,” he said.

“I’m tired,” she said, continuing down the bullet-point list of feelings to report. “But rest isn’t cheap.”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, smiling openly. He reached her and stopped, dropping down to squat at her level. “You can rest, though. I’m here.”

The closer they got to definitive destruction, the more chipper Ozpin got. She scoffed, but she said nothing, leaning back against the window barrier and closing her eyes. After only a few seconds, she sighed and opened them again. “We fucked everything up, Oz.”

He chuckled softly, sitting down next to her against the barrier. “Usually I would discourage you from admitting defeat, Glyn,” he said. “But, yes...this is about as bungled as it gets.”

He stretched his bad leg and she curled in on herself even tighter. 

“Do you really have nothing?” she mumbled. “No big master plan? No aces up your sleeve?”

“No,” he said, and he was still smiling. “The only thing I have left is you.”

She knew why he grew so chipper when doom loomed so close on the horizon, but she did not want to give it a name and taste defeat. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I’m no help here, dear.”

Glynda would much prefer to be outside, fighting tooth and nail to save this land. She would die, most surely, but she would go down swinging. She much preferred to give her life on the battlefield instead of sitting here, waiting for death in Ozpin’s isolated ebony cage. 

But she looked at him, the weary lines in his smile and the tired kindness in his eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to stay. Even if it was waiting for death, she had to stay. The two of them should wait for death together - it was only right. 

All his cards were played. There was no hidden ace that would save them. Every choice would only lead down the same path. Beacon was a powder keg ready to blow, and there was nothing that could be said or done to prevent it from going up in flames. 

Ozpin smiled, even though his own tower was a lockjawed trap waiting to close around his neck. Glynda watched, and he did not falter. Her heart would have ached in his place if it had the strength. 

Maybe, for probably the millionth time in their time together, she should learn from him. What she saw in him now wasn’t honest joy at the world’s end, it was merely acceptance. He had resigned. There was no point to anger, to sorrow - there was nothing either of them could do, so he chose to resign and feel a few hours of relief. 

...She had given it name. She had swallowed the truth. For a second, it threatened to break her inside. He had given up long before she had. As usual, he was right.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, and they both knew it was a stupid question.

“Trying to think of how to spend the last hours of my life,” she said. 

_ That _ admission brought a shade of sadness to his expression. She was always the one to put things into more concrete words for him, for better or for worse. “Yes,” he said, nodding a little bit. It wasn’t the proper answer to what she had said, but neither of them knew what  _ would  _ be proper.

Glynda allowed herself a smile, not without bitterness. “Would it be too weird if I said I just want to kiss you?”

“No,” he said, bracing one hand against the window barrier as he got to his feet. “Would it be too weird if I said I just want a dance?”

She took the hand he offered, forcing her complaining joints to cooperate, standing with him. “No.”

There was no music. That didn’t matter. Glynda buried her face in his neck, familiar scents filling her head. Faintly, she could hear the sounds of Grimm screaming and distant explosions - Dust rounds from the hunters’ opposition, or Cinder’s approach, she didn’t know. One of his hands held her waist, the other her hand, both with a degree of forced calm. She lifted her head and pressed a kiss to his cheek mid-step, feeling him relax, even if only a little bit. Her hand trailed half-comforting circles against his back as he slowly led her around the room in familiar steps.

Glynda opened her eyes, staring at the room behind Ozpin, eyes scanning every shadow on the wall. It seemed like every spot of darkness hid Cinder Fall’s grin. Old blood filled the walls and the shadows were full of enemies and Glynda hid her face again, inhaling warmth and the smell of coffee. Fear prickled faintly in her fingers, but she ignored it, humming an old tune to dance to. 

Ozpin made many missteps, some on account of being out of practice, some on account of a bad leg. As usual, she didn’t say anything about them. The hand on her waist was shaking, and when she heard the way his breath struggled, she realized he was crying. 

There was nothing that could be done to save this world now. There was nothing that could be said. Every choice was the same. By now, fire surely licked at the base of this tower, this cage, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. When the dragon came for them, Glynda would fight with all of her strength. She knew that she would most likely die in that fight, and so would Ozpin. Until then, nothing remained but waiting time.

Ozpin let go of her hand, and she laid it on his arm, gripping the cloth of his jacket like a vice. They stood still in the middle of the floor, and she lifted her head to look at him, for once in her life completely speechless. He touched her face, thumb stroking over one cheek, and she realized she was crying just like him. A defeated smile tugged at her lips and she lowered her eyes.

He leaned in, fulfilling her last wish as she had his. The kiss was long, heartbreaking in its finality. His hands were warm on her cheeks, the only true warmth she perceived, and the kiss tasted faintly salty with tears. They parted, but Glynda pressed her forehead against his, looking him in the eyes for a few moments before lowering her eyes again, avoidant of both truth and hope in the same motion. Ozpin’s hands moved from her face and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she joined him in a firm, almost desperate hug. 

“It’s been a good run,” he said, and she nodded, giving a shallow, world-weary laugh. 

“It’s been an honor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POLAR NIGHT: occurs when the night lasts for more than 24 hours; the sun does not rise above the horizon and daybreak never comes.


End file.
